


handkerchief

by fishysama



Series: goretober 2020!!! [20]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Brutal Murder, Episode: s01e08 Fromage, Exposure, Fights, Gore, Goretober, Goretober 2020, Guro, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Murder Kink, Mutual Pining, Pining, Secret Identity, Secrets, Stalking, Will Graham Knows, faggots, if u squint, imagine having episode tags!?!?!! TFFF, it goes all the way to the top 😔
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishysama/pseuds/fishysama
Summary: goretober day 20: mask (thank u again tazzzzzzzzzzzzz lol)will lurks and gets his feelings hurt 😔 (ahahaha unless..?)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: goretober 2020!!! [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950796
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	handkerchief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adios_cowboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adios_cowboy/gifts).



> canon divergence from fromage (s1ep8) :)!

Will did take Hannibal’s advice from the day prior. Somewhat. He delivered the information to Jack Crawford, who likely issued a search warrant for Budge’s string shop for the following morning. Will, however, insisted that he had to take the following day off; his “mother passed away and he needed to take care of the funeral.” That, in a sense, is Will’s double-sided alibi: Jack wouldn’t be expecting him at the questioning, and Hannibal wouldn’t be expecting him at his office, quietly watching in from the back entrance for reasons he didn’t want to admit. ...Well, he’ll admit it. Jealousy. Curiosity. Nothing more than that.

And, surprisingly, it was working out. Will arrived early, but not early enough for Hannibal to come after him and likely end their therapy for Will being a creep (fair enough). He can get a pretty good view of the office from the small window in the door: Hannibal sitting across from a patient he didn’t recognize, seeming rather peeved. It was a joy coming across that, almost. Seeing that Hannibal could not be relaxed in front of other patients, that he was at his best with Will—okay, maybe Will did have other intentions for coming. He needed to clarify that their therapist-patient relationship was… different than the others. To sound like a spoiled child, he wanted to prove to himself that he is  _ special _ to Hannibal. This confirmed it. Hannibal looked like he wanted to kill the patient. Hence, joy.

But, as Will got settled in his upsettingly stalker-esque position, he heard the conversation.

“Nine,” the patient gestures exuberantly, “Nine times.” Now, he holds up nine fingers. “I can count on two hands the number of times I’ve been dumped by a psychiatrist.”

Will folds, cursing nonverbally. That explained Hannibal’s apprehensive manner. Of course Will isn’t that  _ special _ ; Hannibal is just having a tough time trying to refer a patient. Yet, he can’t bring himself to come to that conclusion and walk off. He stays, watching through the window, listening to the muffled conversation. He must have had another reason for coming, but he can’t place it. He’s simply… magnetized.

“You were a referral!” Franklyn—a name gleaned from their conversation—boisterously retorts, clearly upset.

Will can’t help to empathize with him, but Franklyn really is a pain. No wonder it looks like Hannibal wants to leave at the soonest possible moment.

“I am also part of the problem,” Hannibal punctuates solemnly, sustaining his calm demeanor even though Will can tell he’s about to break.

The patient looks to the side and grimaces.

Will, afraid he’s been seen, dips beneath the window, heart pounding in his ears. Still, he listens through the wood.

“You focus too much on your therapist and not enough on your therapy.”

Will, standing outside his therapist's door for no other  _ real  _ reason than to just see him, dips lower under the window. He sits on the ground. Threads his hands through his hair.  _ God, what the hell am I doing? _

“You lost respect for me because I wouldn’t report Tobias, didn’t you?”

That takes Will out of his self-deprecating mindset and back to something more definite.  _ So this was the patient..? _ As Will stands back up, he sees the man that matches Tobias Budge’s profile exactly enter through the waiting room. Will swallows. There’s a bullet hole in his ear.

“Report Tobias for what?” the man in question says, closing the door softly behind him.

Hannibal seems quite undeterred for a man whose office was just intruded on by a murderer (most likely). He simply turns his head, stands as Franklyn stands and says:

“Tobias?” Voice slightly shaking.

“I came to say goodbye, Franklyn.” Tobias steps forward boldly; the intent behind those words become clear to all except the person who they were intended for.

Still, Hannibal doesn’t react.  _ A defense mechanism, maybe? _ The killer would likely nab the one more determined to call the police first.

But still, not even shock on his lips. Not a hint of worry. He looks at Tobias like he looks at Will in more public circumstances: tilting his head slightly, a non-visible smile. That, of course, could be in Will’s head. The smile  _ is _ non-visible.

Will considers opening the door, exposing his embarrassing act to hopefully quell the situation. But, he feels his waist.  _ Lucky me. Forgot to bring my gun on the only day off I need it. _

“I just killed three men,” Tobias deadpans.

_ Three. _ Will’s lip trembles at that sentence, more nauseous at the thought that one of his colleagues is dead than  _ Oh God. That was supposed to be me. _ Even more nauseous that Hannibal is (incorrectly) undoubtful that the third dead man is Will, and that he had no reaction whatsoever (defense mechanism again? playing dumb? shock? or, more likely, not really caring). Even more nauseous at the fact that the now-confirmed murderer is in Hannibal’s office, that he knows Hannibal can’t fight; what man that wears posh suits and spends his salary on antiques and imported wines can fight? Nevermind this Franklyn dude, who thinks trying to talk Tobias into turning himself will change the fact that he’s going to be the first to die. Slightly less nauseous then that is the fact that Will will have to expose himself somehow: open the door, report the incoming injuries and murders, call for back-up, make up some excuse that he was “just in the neighborhood and wanted to drop by—”

Hannibal takes two calculated steps forward. He clasps Franklyn’s jaw and twists sharply. With a crack audible through a wooden door, Franklyn instantly falls to the ground. The first to die. Hannibal and Tobias look at each other, pleased.

Like that, Hannibal’s mask comes off. Will gasps softly, staring at the new man before him. When someone wears a mask the entire time since you met them, you don’t notice the mask at all. Will isn’t sure he recognizes the exposed man. Unsure how to feel about the stranger. He knows how he should feel: disgusted, betrayed, terrified. He knows how his body feels: warm. Warm cheeks. Warm stomach. Warm heart. His mind, though, still hasn’t caught up to the visuals.

“I was looking forward to that.”

“I saved you the trouble.”

Tobias throws his suit jacket to the side, uncoiling a length of piano wire in his hand.

Hannibal watches the wire as Tobias begins to strategically spin it. He dips away, dodging the metal teeth.

Will fears his previous prediction is correct. Killing and fighting are two diverse skills—Hannibal is a surgeon, not a violent criminal. Not a murderer.

Please, not a murderer.

As he watches Hannibal get kicked back, Will shivers, not knowing who to root for. Not knowing if he should root. Not knowing if he should join.

Hannibal rises quickly, as if the kick were nothing, and slides the ladder in Tobias’ direction, trying to deter him but only providing an opening. Tobias whips the thread forward, encapsulating Hannibal’s forearm in a tight, compressed ring.

Will tenses, unable to stop the beating of his heart as he watches Hannibal struggle—not the type of heart-racing that’s filled with dread, but excitement, anticipation. The way it throbs when Hannibal escapes, smashing a glass side table over Tobias’ head. Seeing him suffer, seeing him play offense, seeing him kill.

Will opens the door silently. Shuts it behind him. Wide-eyed, he stands on the sidelines. Waits for Hannibal to notice his arrival. Knowing that he’ll win.

Will doesn’t feel conscious until he sees Hannibal breaking Tobias’ arm through the ladder’s gap. Another snap, another agonized scream. Hannibal looks over at Will as he does it, an enamored expression wisping Will off into a world where Hannibal did not just kill an innocent man to fight his adversary. Hannibal, despite his exhaustion, happily sighs, letting go of the arm.

Will flushes, rubs his neck. In the future, he can see Hannibal coming up to him, telling him how relieved he is to see Will alive. For once, relieved that he lied. Will’s glad Hannibal lied too, hid this talent from him. Watching the pair tear each other apart, Will patiently waits for the congratulatory moment to arrive.

Finally, Hannibal strikes Tobias in the throat, a fatal gasp leaving his lips. He chokes, clasping onto his neck, eyes bulging. 

Hannibal huffs for a moment before flapping the handkerchief from his breast pocket, using it to pick up the stag statue. He flits his eyes at Will once before raising the figure defiantly above his head. He brings it down sharply, bludgeoning the murderer. Becoming the murderer again.

The coughing stops. Tobias collapses, dead.

Hannibal drops the statue carelessly, panting as he turns to the pedestal. With the handkerchief, he knocks it over. Setting the stage. He slips the cloth back into his breast pocket.

Disheveled and bleeding, Hannibal looks over as if to say, “Hello, Will. Did you enjoy the show?” And Will’s knees tremble as if to say, “Yes. Very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://juroguro.tumblr.com/)


End file.
